


Heather, It Was Really Nothing

by digitalpanic



Category: Heathers (1988)
Genre: Gen, Non-Canonical Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 07:43:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2301887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/digitalpanic/pseuds/digitalpanic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Veronica hadn't made it in time?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heather, It Was Really Nothing

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Heathers trash who has decided that she has to take on the grand task of writing any and all Heathers fanfiction that is not yet written.  
> So here's the child of a thought at like, 9 o'clock. Took me like, an hour to write.  
> I was listening to Heathers The Musical while I wrote this.  
> Title taken from the Smiths song "William, It Was Really Nothing"  
> Kinda wanna write a Veronica parallel? I think I just really like writing parallels to sad fics. Whoops.

What the _fuck_ was Heather thinking? She should’ve known better, she really should’ve, but it’s hard. It’s really hard being Heather. Not because of “how hard it is to be popular,” because, really, she isn’t popular anymore. Not since Heather died and Heather took over. The Queen Megabitch seat, as Veronica would put it, has been shifted. And poor, poor, Heather McNamara has been lost in the dust.

She always would’ve been the one lost in the dust. She doesn’t have Heather’s charisma, Heather’s vindictiveness, Heather’s bossiness. Everything that Heather and Heather had, has, that made, make, them great, made them who she was, who she is. She has them, but not in the massive quantities like the other two. She’s just. Yellow Heather. Red Heather, Green Heather, Yellow Heather. Color coded people. Green Heather became Red Heather and decided to knock out Yellow Heather.

It’s kind of laughable, really!

She fears going to school the next day after hoping, praying, that maybe for once that Veronica and Heather didn’t listen, maybe they didn’t recognize her (even after she gave her real name then called herself Tweety, fucking _Tweety_ ) and she’d get off scot free. But alas. No such luck. The rumor mill works fast, and Heather works even faster. Even before she stepped into school, she heard everyone whispering.

“Did you _hear_? Heather had a meltdown last night on that skeezy radio show!”

“She’s failing math? What a joke! Poor Heather, poor poor Heather!”

“She doesn’t even deserve the name Heather anymore! She should just go fuck off to Hell with Heather, Kurt, and Ram!”

Nonononono this isn’t what Heather wants. She can’t deal with this, not today. But she has to. She has to go to first period, listen to the lecture, listen to the teacher, ignore all the kids laughing under their breath and not-so under their breath.

She can do this.

She can.

She can’t.

She can’t do this.

As soon as she gets in the room, as soon as she sits down, everyone’s laughing at her. It wasn’t as bad in the halls, but in the classroom. In the classroom she can’t get away from it. It’s such a small space, so many kids, their eyes boring a hole in the back of her skull.

Heather is probably chatting with that boy about how fucking dumb she is and that she can’t _believe_ she ever considered herself friends with such a fucking loser. She looks over and Veronica’s nose is buried in that dumb journal, even sillier monocle on her face. But oh god, oh god, this is terrible, what did Heather ever do to deserve this? (A lot of things). But she never thought it’d come back to bite her like this!

No one thinks a pretty girl has problems.

Oh, how they were wrong.

She can’t take it any more.

She gets up.

She runs out.

She catches the teacher on her way out and vaguely hears the teacher saying, “Where’s Heather going?”

To finish it.

She rushes into the bathroom, takes a few quick breaths, calms herself down, and takes it out.

The bottle.

The end.

She cranks it a few times, but it won’t come off. How can she get this off. “Fucking child protective caps…” after fiddling with it for way too long, she realizes she can just slam it on the faucet. So she does.

It pops off.

Finally.

She grabs as many as her hands can hold and shoves them in her mouth. Water, water, water. Quick, quick, quick, gotta be quick about it. She hears footsteps. They’re heading towards the bathroom. Who? Who is it? Who’s going to the bathroom? Go away, go away, go away. Ah! They’re swallowed. Down the hatch, gone, finished. Whoever it is, it doesn’t matter now, whoops!

So long, Heather McNamara.

Will anyone miss her?

Probably. Not.

She’s slumped on the floor. Waiting. Eyes closed. Shallow breathing.

The door busts open and she faintly hears Veronica, screaming, “Heather? Heather? No, not you too. I can’t lose you too!” Too, huh? Reminds her that she’s not the first, not the only. Heather. Kurt. Ram. She’s going to join them. What a shitty crew to die with, huh?

There’s probably more but all she can feel is Veronica’s body over her and tears dripping on her and sobs and sobs and sobs. She thinks about Veronica. Maybe Veronica could’ve been a true friend, her first true friend. Maybe Heather could’ve become a better person, a good person, someone worth it. Worth what? Who knows. But, but, but. It’s too late now. It’s too late to think about the what-ifs and the should-Is. Then everything goes black and well.

Are they supposed to work this fast?

Does it really matter?

Honestly.

What was she trying to do?

_**Sleep?** _


End file.
